“They are safe, no longer asleep. In more comfortable accomodations, I assure you.”
Suri met Vestrix’ gaze boldly, searching for the hint of a lie. Not that she trusted herself to find a crack in a master mage’s poker face. Especially not when she was distracted by Raja, who had stepped closer and was openly staring at her. The scent of his sweat made her fidget nervously.
“Show me,” Suri said, and it wasn’t a question. Vestrix nodded slowly and led the way, leaving Raja, who stayed behind.
They walked through even more rooms and halls, covering what must have been a massive building on the estate. Suri had so many questions, but they had to wait until this most important one was answered.
In due time, they reached a more rustic looking section with exposed wooden beams and iron door frames. A noise much like the bustling of a busy street in San Francisco came from the other side of a wide, green door with its knob set in the middle. Suri saw vague shapes through eye level frosted glass windows set in the wall.
“They have been spending most of their time in there,” said Vestrix, with a clever smile. She opened the door, and as she pulled it toward her came a mix of scents that Suri had not smelt since her last time in Lodum. Inside the human district.
Suri and Vestrix stood in the doorway. Vestrix had a beaming smile. Before them was a giant kitchen. So large, in fact, that the fifty human whom Suri had last seen asleep were not packed in at all. A skylight and large, bay windows gave the room natural light. Huge stoves, ovens, fireplaces and a multitude of kitchen supplies dominated the area. A normal kitchen has one of everything. A professional, restaurant kitchen has three or four. This one had maybe a dozen. Or twenty. It was hard to see with all the human bodies mingling and moving around, hardly standing still for more than a minute before going off to grab another ingredient, chop vegetables, taste a pot of something-or-other simmering atop a fire. They still wore their old clothes, but it was obvious that they had been washed. Suri spotted Clarissa’s white chef’s hat sticking up through the crowd. And all of them looked clean, ruddy-faced, healthy. They had been taken care of.
“You stayed true to your word,” Suri murmured.
“Of course,” Vestrix scoffed. “I am the Lady of Arrows.” As if that explained everything. As if Suri knew what the title meant. The weight of it, the importance. The sheer pedigree attached to the mantle of responsibility. It seemed a special title, and certainly Vestrix was powerful. She could also be a good actor. Suri didn’t actually have proof of her allegiance, the verification needed for her to give full trust. Fae were shifty schemers. And they lived a long time; They had the patience to wait before springing a trap.
“Shall we continue?” Vestrix’ hand was already on the doorknob.
Suri nodded. She had seen enough. Everyone was so intent on their work, chatting amongst themselves—there was even a little circular area off to the side, surrounded on three sides by windows, with cushioned chairs where some of them were lounging and taking a rest. They hadn’t noticed her yet, the door being a small feature it the gigantic kitchen, with all its noise and distractions going on. It would be best to slip away before they could come talk to her. If that happened, she could be stuck in the kitchen for an hour or more, telling them about Earth, everything she had learned since she left, and so on.
They found the armory in the same rustic area. Its door was red, square shaped, the handle in its normal position. Vestrix opened it and shooed Suri inside, closing the door behind them. Immediately, Suri was beset by a young dwarf wearing massive spectacles. His forehead was covered in beads of sweat, which he wiped at with a thick, hairy arm. He was surprisingly good looking for a dwarf, clean-shaven, long hair tied into a bun on the top of his head. He looked like he could be your barista at Starbucks, or at a trendy downtown cafe.
“So this is her, then,” he said, in a rough voice.
Vestrix gave the introduction. “Suri, this your armorer, Smith Master Dedric. Dedric, meet Suri.”
“Pleased t’ meet ya,” said Dedric. He held out a muscled hand, dirty with soot and sweat, red from being too close to flame, skin dried and cracked in some places, and fixed with hard calluses that could be mistaken for barnacles. His smile was pearly white.
“Y-you too,” said Suri, taken aback by the speed of what was happening around her. “Um,” said Suri, turning to Vestrix. “I have an armorer?”
“Of course, lass!” said Dedric, turning back to his forge, which was made of stone and shaped in the head of a dragon like something straight out of Skyrim. Suri gulped, remembering that all those legends came from Faerie. “Can’t have you fightin’ without a nice plate of steel to protect your tush,” he said, and laughed roarously at his own…well, it wasn’t even a joke.
Vestrix waved aside Suri’s concerned expression. “We’ll talk after. Dedric needs your measurements. I got your rough size when we first met.”
“But we need to confirm for any final alterations,” Dedric said, butting in. A spray of sparks came from the forge as he smashed down on something with a hammer. “Yorin, you hedgehog fucker!”
Suri glanced at Vestrix with wide eyes. Vestrix put a finger to her lips, smiling and obviously holding back a laugh.
Another dwarf was sitting on a tall stool against the far wall, by a window, writing on a plain wooden desk. Drawing, actually, from the charcoal sketches that Suri could make out on the roll of parchment opened up in front of him.
“Wha d’ya want? My beard?” The dwarf started laughing, sounding identical to Dedric. He turned and winked at Suri, stroked a long, red beard.
“Suck my dirty toes, you twat. Give the lass her paper.”
“They’re brothers,” Vestrix whispered.
The bearded dwarf dropped down from his stool, hit the stone floor with a thud. A number of vase shaped baskets stood next to his desk. Inside were tall rolls of parchment, tied with twine. He poked through them for a few seconds, muttering to himself, checking the black markings made on their exterior. “Here,” he said, pulling one of them out of the basket. It was almost as tall as he was, at about four-feet. “Your armor design, made by yours truly.”
A high-pitched, falsetto of ‘yours truly’ sounded from over by the forge. The dwarf glared in his brother’s direction. “The name’s Yorin,” he said, sticking out his hand. Between him and his brother, there was no one else working in the armory. Suri’s gaze was momentarily distracted by a burst of red light coming from the head of Dedric’s hammer. He raised it above his head. Darkness swirled around the room as all the light seemed to be sucked towards the forge. Then he smashed the hammer down, making an extra crisp sounding clang.
Suri shook Yorin’s hand. It was smaller than his brother’s, pale, stained with ink and what looked to be chemical burn marks. “Suri,” she said.
“Good, take this.” He handed her the parchment. “Look it over. You have…” he glanced out the window. Frowned. “Never mind. No time for changes. What you see is what you get.”
“Yorin is the best armor designer in Lodum,” Vestrix said, in a praising tone. “Lady Catalaine wore his design to the Imperial Ball two summers ago.”
Suri nodded along.
“Hmph,” Yorin snorted. “You only say that because you want to keep me an’ me brother around. Spread your arms.”
Suri realized he was talking to her, and snapped her arms out. Yorin took the small, extendable foot ladder hanging from his utility belt and used it to get high enough to take Suri’s measurements. In two minutes he was finished, already jotting notes on the edges of a spare piece of parchment that he’d taken from his pocket, and was covered in scribbles.
“We’ll leave you to it, then,” said Vestrix. “I’ll have hot chocolate delivered in an hour.” She backed out of the doorway. Suri took that as her sign to leave, and followed. The hall was like what you find at a library, with a railing on the side, looking down on a floor on the main ground level. The red door shut, but not before hearing one, final clang of Dedric’s h
ammer.
“Please excuse me for rushing you around. Lord Korka has made several moves while you’ve been away. Now, tell me,” Vestrix said, breaking her pace to turn and look Suri in the eye. “Did you tell the magi council? What did they say?”
30
It took ten minutes for Suri to tell Vestrix everything.
Vestrix interjected several times to ask for clarification, or more details. By the end of it, she wore a deep frown. “My worst suspicions have come to pass,” she murmured. “If the Vampire Courts are allied with Lord Korka…” She shook her head. A dark mist began to take form around her body, swirling like the smoke from a small-flame candle. Vestrix took no note of it; She was so powerful, well connected to the stream of magic, that the mist appeared to be the result of her change in mood. A reflection of her inner turmoil.
In a moment, the mist was gone. Her smile returned. “You did well,” she said, in a steady tone. Suri nearly blushed—then actually blushed when she became self-conscious about it.
“No,” she replied. “I hardly did anything. It was all luck, really.”
Vestrix shook her head. “Stop. You are a brave young woman, Suri. Focus on your strengths, not your weaknesses. Self-criticism will take you down a dark path. Look at what you did well, that few others could have done. Use that to build your spirit, not the mistakes.”
They went down a spiral staircase, reached the main floor that Suri had seen over the railing from above. It was an area that reminded her of a lounge area in a library. It was a large space, open concept, with desks and tables and chairs, all made of wood, some fitted with dark leather and designed in a way that gave off an Oxford vibe. At the same time, the layout gave an inclusive, natural feel that told you ‘yes, please—these chairs are meant to be sat on. Stay for a while.’
More intriguing than the lounge area was its occupants. Vestrix led Suri to a short, round table between two chairs. On their walk, Suri spied the twenty or so men and women already in the hall. They looked back at her with studied glances. Sizing her up, as a potential ally, if not an opponent. They looked like fighters. The swords and shields they wore said as much, as did the tremendous magical aura that results from many powerful magic users gathered in the same place. It replenished Suri’s own well of magic, gave her skin a tingly feeling, as if she had been cold without knowing it and walked past a fireplace.
“We are readying for an assault. Against us, that is,” said Vestrix. “Any moment now Lord Korka’s forces could be knocking at our door.”
“The armor,” said Suri.
“Correct. Your role will not be insignificant in this battle.”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“You are the most powerful human in Lodum. In all of Faerie. Except, perhaps, for whatever prisoners Lord Korka has trapped in his dungeon. Your Councillor Weathers, for one. But they are not here to fight. It is only you. Your human allies, they are not warriors.”
“Neither am I…”
“Ah, but I think you are.”
The men and women in the hall, hearing Vestrix’ words, paused their conversations and regarded Suri with cool gazes.
“There is a large divide in Lodum that is spreading across all of Faerie. On one side is Lord Korka and his goons, who wish to severe all treaties and ties between fae and human. And perhaps more, if they have their way. On the other side is the other fae nobility, and their factions. Lodum is split in two, and at the moment Korka’s side has the upper hand.”
“Where is the Faerie King? Why doesn’t he do anything?”
“I do not know,” said Vestrix, sadly. “I’m not sure if anyone does. There may be an event, a situation, even more terrible that he and his inner circle are dealing with.”
“Or he’s dead.”
Suri and Vestrix turned their heads, looked at the newcomer. He was a fae, and a shifter. His tiger stripes showed orange and black on his skin, like camouflage. He had wide shoulders, pants that stopped halfway down his calves, and wore a thin, open vest that revealed a chest covered in white-and-orange fur. A long weapon that looked like a cross between a sword and a spear rested easy on his shoulder, one muscled arm casually holding onto its haft.
“We don’t know that,” said Vestrix.
“Or kidnapped,” the tiger shifter continued. His green eyes fixed Suri with a dead stare. “I suppose I’ll be saving this one on the battlefield.”
“And I suppose I’ll be saving you,” Vestrix replied. Suri remained silent, glancing between the two of them.
“Hmph!” The shifter snorted. But he did not correct Vestrix. Then he strutted off, tiger tail wagging behind him, sticking out of a hole cut into his pants for the express purpose of letting it hang out freely.
“Is he always like that?”
Vestrix sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I think you will find that most of the people gathered here have, ah, interesting personalities. They more than make up for that in other areas.”
“Where is ‘here’, anyways?”
“Why, you are sitting in the headquarters of the Black Gauntlet Guild.” Vestrix looked astonished. “Truly, did you not know all this time? The insignia is all over.”
Black Gauntlet. A shiver ran up Suri’s spine. The hall, everything around her transformed as she looked at it in a new light. The legendary mercenary band. And I was so dumb I didn't—
Vestrix’ words came back to Suri. She brushed aside the negative thinking, her doubts and concerns. The little blows that chip away at ego and self-confidence. She breathed in and out, and it was gone. Her mind was clear.
“Good,” said Vestrix, softly. “Now, as I was saying. You are the only human who can fight, and fight you must. Humans need a representative here in Lodum. Someone we can show off to the public. Make a hero out of, or at least use as an example of your race.”
“I see,” Suri replied. It sounded good, but there was so much to process and she didn’t have the time to analyze what was going on and make her own opinion. She would have to run with the role she had been given. “The armor.”
“Yes,” Vestrix said, with a smile. “Quite ostentatious. We need you looking good, after all. The battle is only part of it. That is a matter of life and death. But even if Korka’s forces were to be pummelled into the ground, that would not ensure a peaceful relationship between Earth and Faerie. Lasting peace will come only if the ordinary fae believe you are heroic, Suri. That humans are worth standing with side-by-side.”
“Can the others go, then? Back to Earth, before this battle happens?”
Vestrix shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The nearest waygate lies within the territory of one of Lord Korka’s allies. They have already massed troops around the waygate, to protect it. The best we can hope for is to push them back in the initial fight, and regain control of the area. Only then can your friends return home.”
“And the councillor?”
“I’ll give the details to Waylan. He will launch the rescue when the battle begins. I do believe you have somewhere to be.”
“The delivery?” Suri had mentioned the package, given to her by the Androsian. “I mean, it can wait. Until after the battle.” Suri had dreamt, since as long as she could remember, of being in this exact situation: fighting in a war alongside Black Gauntlet. Although, I still don’t know who is paying them. They are a mercenary band, after all. Which raised another question: would they change sides, if the pay was right?
“An Androsian is not easily scared,” said Vestrix. “If he told you to deliver it, I think you should do exactly that. It may give us valuable information. Raja will accompany you. Take one of the robes by the exit. They are enchanted, so no one should be able to tell that you are human.”
With that, Vestrix rose. “I must be going. See you around,” she said, in a weirdly casual manner. She transformed into a raven, took flight for the upper floors of the building.
Suri went back to the courtyard, where Raja was waiting. “Vestrix told me…um…” She lost her
train of thought.
Raja held his body up in a handstand position, and was doing pushups. His blonde hair hung down past his pointed ears. When he saw Suri, he slowly lowered himself, like a gymnast, arching his body until his feet touched the ground. Some kind of yoga thing.
Suri was about to run to him, wrap him in a hug, but she stopped upon seeing the look in his eyes. It wasn’t a cold expression, or hateful. It wasn’t even disinterested or blank. It was…wary. Uncertain. As if they were meeting for the first time, and Suri had a bad reputation.
It was an awkward trip from the Black Gauntlet headquarters to the location of the delivery. Raja also wore a disguise, and he kept one hand on the hilt of his sword for the whole journey. There was no friendly banter, or casual flirting. Raja’s standoffish demeanor had already given a firm ‘no’ in that regard.
What did I do? Was the natural question, the first question, that came to Suri’s mind. Well, I didn’t do anything wrong, she decided. And I don’t have time to worry about this, either.
The delivery location was a decrepit old manor in one of Lodum’s many poor districts. It was not far from the burnt ruins of the human district, that the fae had yet to clear of rubble and the skeletons of burnt out houses and buildings. The outside was blackened stone, large swaths of it covered in thick vines of wild ivy. A waist-high black metal gate was the only entrance into the mansion’s property. The surrounding wall was dry stone and also waist-high. Suri could have easily vaulted over it. It was quaint, something you expected to see in the English countryside.
Suri rapped twice on the front door. She took the black envelope out from her jacket pocket. The outside was wrinkled, slightly bent. Hopefully whatever was inside hadn’t been ruined.
The door creaked open, as far as the locking chain would allow. “Yes?” came a timid voice. Suri tried to peer inside. She couldn’t see anything. It took her a moment to realize that the speaker was a gnome, so short that she had missed her entirely.
The gnome was very old. She looked up at Suri with rheumy eyes. Her hair was long and white, tied into a large bun.
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